


A Twist of Fate

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father/Son Incest, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: John has always suffered from nightmares. When Sherlock wakes him from an especially bad one, John decides to share its content with his friend. Neither of them is prepared for the revelation that follows."I had a friend when I was nineteen. His name was William.""I'm sure you had a lot of friends at that age," Sherlock answered lightly as he carefully sat down on the bed next to John."Yes, I did. But no one quite like him."





	A Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I have to inform you that this story is darker than my other stories. It's based on a true story and I had to write it down to give it a happy ending. Please read the tags carefully. I have tried to include all the triggers I could think of. If you feel like I need to add some other tags, let me know. 
> 
> A big thank you goes to **Tstui1gos** for taking the time to beta-read this story. I wouldn't know what to do without her help and input. =)

### A Twist of Fate

"John."

His voice was barely above a whisper laced with fear and hopelessness as steps sounded in the corridor.

"John."

Panic and desperation. He knew that he couldn't escape but he was still holding onto John as if he was a lifeline.

"John."

The crack of a door as it opened. Heavy steps on the floor. A choked sob fell from his lips.

"John!"

The deep, cruel laughter of a man. The sound of a belt being opened. Desperate scrambling as he tried to get away. In vain. A scream and then...

"No! No! Please, don't! Not again. Not..."

 

"JOHN!"

 

He jerked awake with a start. His fists stroke out as a first reflex but only hit thin air.

 

"John."

 

The voice again. He knew that voice. Had known it for years and would recognize it anywhere.

 

"Sherlock," John rasped out and blinked to bring the room into focus. It was his own room. He was at home at Baker Street. In his bed. He was safe. There was no one here to harm him although... there never had been anyone after him in the first place.

 

John took a gasping breath of air as he tried to force his heart which was pounding away in its ribcage to slow down. There was no use for all the adrenalin that was rushing through his veins. He didn't need to fight someone nor did he intend to flee.

 

"Although you did run away back then," a disappointed voice reminded him and sent a shiver down John's spine.

 

"There was nothing else I could have done," he whispered desperately into the semi-darkness of his room. Maybe if he said it often enough he would believe it himself and stop wondering how everything had played out in the end.

 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

 

John flinched at the deep baritone of his friend. Shit, he had completely forgotten that Sherlock was in his room. His eyes focused on the silhouette of the tall man at the foot of his bed who was only illuminated by the light that fell through the opened door. From what John could see Sherlock was still in his shirt and trousers although he had exchanged his suit jacket for his dressing gown. So, he hadn't gone to sleep yet but had either experimented or composed. Good, John relaxed back against the headrest of his bed. At least, he hadn't woken his friend with his nightmare. Still he had probably interrupted whatever Sherlock had been doing with his screams. Not that John remembered screaming but based on his sore throat and dry mouth it was an easy deduction to make. Besides he always screamed when he had this nightmare. It was the worst scenario his mind could come up with.

 

A bitter smile pulled at John's lips. One would imagine that his worst nightmares were fueled by the memories of the war but that had only been true for the time right after his discharge. Of course he still dreamed of the desert, his comrades and especially of the soldiers that had died under his hands but he didn't wake up a trembling mess from these nightmares. It had become easier to deal with them as time had gone by and especially after Sherlock had introduced him to the battlefield of London.

 

He also didn't panic anymore when his mind came up with images of The Fall - as John had named the fake suicide of his best friend. The images of his best friend falling down from a great height and his skull splitting open on impact had replaced the nightmare of the screaming boy for the two years Sherlock had been away. After Sherlock had returned and John had moved back in with him he had hoped that it would stay that way. That he would continue to dream of Sherlock's fake suicide because it was easier to wake up from these nightmares when his friend wasn't really dead. John just needed to walk down the stairs to convince himself that Sherlock was in fact alive and then he even managed to get another few hours of sleep. He could never fall back asleep after nightmares of the boy.

 

"Because you don't know what happened to him. You can't let go of it because there is no closure." The words of his therapist echoed through his mind and John sighed quietly. Of course the nightmares of the boy had come back after Sherlock and he had started to share a flat again. They would always come back because John would never learn what had happened after the phone call. Sometimes he had played with the idea of asking Sherlock for help in finding out the truth but he had never dared to voice the request to his best friend. Not because he was afraid that Sherlock would turn him down but... what would John do if he learned that the boy was dead? Would he be able to deal with the truth if it entailed suicide? John wasn't certain of the answer and this probably made him a coward and he hated himself for it, but...

 

"John?"

 

Oh yes, Sherlock was still in the room. Still waiting for an answer. John opened his mouth to tell his friend that everything was alright and that he should go back to his experiment but the words that came out of it were quite different.

 

"I had a friend when I was nineteen. His name was William."

 

"I'm sure you had a lot of friends at that age," Sherlock answered lightly as he carefully sat down on the bed next to John.

 

"Yes, I did. But no one quite like him." John took a shaking breath. Dear God, he was really going to tell Sherlock. He had told no one except Ella and now he was ready to bare his heart to his best friend. At night. In his room. After a nightmare. John nearly laughed out loud at the cliché of it but the thought of sharing this part of his past with Sherlock sobered him up quickly. He had never imagined that something like this would ever happen. Admittedly he had imagined Sherlock in his room - and in his bed - at night but in his fantasies his best friend hadn't been there to listen to a terrible story from John's past.

 

John pushed the thought of Sherlock writhing in pleasure on his bed away and forced himself to go on with his tale. The faster he told it the faster it would be over.

 

"For starters, we met online." John chuckled quietly. Today such a statement was fairly common but back then it had been something newsworthy. "We chatted and he was... funny. He had a very special kind of humor and... I don't know I just took to him."

 

John shrugged into the darkness of the room. To this day he couldn't explain why he had liked William so much from the start. His dark humor would have scared most people off and he had been so honest that it had bordered on cruelty but John had liked that. With everyone else around him telling lies - himself included - the friendship with William had been something special. A treasure, really.

 

"And yet you didn't care enough about him to help when he needed you most."

 

John took a shaky breath and forced himself to continue, even as his chest constricted painfully at the thought of what he had to tell next. "Soon, we exchanged phone numbers and we would call each other almost every night. It was great to have someone to talk to but... sometimes William would just suddenly hang up on me without any explanation. At first I thought that he was afraid that his parents would catch him talking with a friend so late at night, but..." John choked on the air as he recalled how he had discovered William's dark secret.

 

"And then he added sulfuric acid." William's voice sounded a mix of amused and horrified as he told John what one of his peers had done at school. 

John smiled to himself and leaned back in his bed. Downstairs his parents were arguing again. Harry hadn't come home from her latest outing yet and when she did she would probably be drunk again. He would have to face this reality again in the morning but for now he just needed to concentrate on William's voice to forget his life.

"Can you imagine..." William stopped mid-sentence.

It took John a second to realise that he wasn't just doing it for a dramatic effect. Frowning, he glanced down at his phone but it showed that they were still connected. 

"William?" he asked carefully.

"Shouldn't all good boys be sleeping right now?" A voice came from the phone. It sounded like from far away. So, the man wasn't speaking with John but to William. Maybe, his father then. John was about to hang up when a clattering noise from William's side sparked his curiosity. Had William dropped the phone? But why? Certainly his father - or whoever the man was - wouldn't be too angry with him just for chatting with a friend at night.

"Don't tell me you waited for me?" There was a mocking undertone in the voice of the man and John didn't like it one bit. He couldn't put a finger on why exactly the words felt wrong to him but they did and...

"No!" William's voice. John sat up straight in bed. "Please, don't! Don't!"

God, what was going on there?

John strained his ears and thought he could make out the rustling of clothes and small whimpers. Was William's father giving him a thrashing? God knew how often John had gotten one of his own until he had grown strong enough to strike back. Still, not even his father would have beaten him up for not going to bed on time. Were William's parents really this strict or...

"Ahh!"

John winced at the pain-laced scream. He could feel with William. When his father had taken the belt to him...

"God, you are so tight!" The words and the groans that accompanied them made all the colour drain from John's face. No, no this couldn't be. A beating was bad enough but certainly this man wasn't... wasn't...

"Ah yes!"

More grunting then... silence. Only interrupted by the heavy panting of the man and tiny whimpers from William. John's knuckles had turned white by the time the man spoke again.

"It's always as if your arse has been made for my cock, Willy. How about you buy yourself the new chemistry set tomorrow? My treat, obviously."

John felt like he would be sick any moment now. This man had just raped his friend - who had only just turned sixteen - and was now treating him like he was a rent boy. Besides if John wasn't mistaken then this hadn't been the first time that this had happened. And that meant that every time William had interrupted their phone calls this man probably had...

"Oh God," he breathed out as bile rose in his throat. All this time and he hadn't had a clue. He had believed that his life was terrible but in comparison...

"John?" The small voice of his friend startled John into almost dropping the phone. He had completely forgotten that they were still connected.

"Yes," he somehow managed to get out and then. "Are you... alright?"

Stupid question, he cursed himself a second later. Of course his friend wasn't all right. He had just been raped. No one would be alright after such an ordeal. A repeated ordeal if John was right.

"I... sorry that you had to listen to that. If you want to... end our acquaintance, I understand..."

"Nonsense!" John shook his head rapidly. He didn't know what to do or if there was anything he could do at all but he certainly wouldn't abandon his friend. Not ever.

 

"But you did," Sherlock stated as John had finished his story and his head shot up. He hadn't come to this part of his tale yet but of course Sherlock had deduced what had likely happened for John to be haunted by it even decades later.

 

"He didn't hang up on me anymore when his father - his own father - came for him. Sometimes, he managed to hide from him but most times his father got William and then... he didn't always rape him in the same way. Sometimes, it was a forced blowjob, another time it was anal sex but the worst was when he forced an orgasm from William. I was always afraid - more afraid than usual - that he would kill himself after this happened."

 

John shuddered and hugged himself as he stared at his knees. "I tried to get him to call the police or to tell someone else but he was too afraid. It went on like this for a year but then he finally called the police one evening and I..."

 

"You broke all ties with him!" John flinched at the anger in Sherlock's voice. "You called yourself his friend and yet you left him alone when he needed you the most."

 

John swallowed hard at the accusations. They sounded too similar to his own thoughts and he didn't know how to handle that. Honestly he hadn't expected Sherlock to react like this. His friend had never been one to react emotionally and surely he couldn't blame John just like this. Without knowing all the facts. "I was at a very low point myself. My parents were always arguing. My sister was on the best way to becoming a drunk. I didn't know how to pay medical school and..."

 

"Oh yes, that's so much worse than getting raped almost every night!" Sherlock jumped up from the bed. "It didn't occur to you that I might need a friend in that time?!"

 

Everything stopped.

 

The words hung heavily in the air between them and seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room as John gasped for breath. No, that couldn't be. Sherlock couldn't... he wasn't...

 

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, that's the whole lot of it," Sherlock threw the words at John before he turned around and fled from the room.

 

John stared at the spot where his best friend had stood only seconds ago. His mind was reeling with the new information. Sherlock was William. Sherlock had been the boy with whom he had spoken for hours at night. Sherlock was... the boy who had been brutally raped by his own father for years. The last thought got John into motion as he realised what this all really meant and he stumbled out of bed to follow Sherlock. He hadn't been there for his friend years ago but he would be damned if he made the same mistake twice.

 

OOO

 

He needed to get out. To get away from everything. From this flat. From John. From the memories. From this life. He needed...

 

Sherlock took a shaking breath as he leaned against the backrest of his armchair while tremors ran through his body. For years he had managed to push the memories of his father aside. He had built a dungeon in his Mind Palace and locked him away. It had worked -though not as well as the cocaine - and it had kept Sherlock sane. He had been able to analyze everything from a distance - if the need arose - without getting sucked into the maelstrom of fear, hatred and disgust that now threatened to swallow him whole.

 

His eyes flickered to his phone. Maybe it would be wise to call Mycroft now. His brother was the only one who understood what the monster - that called himself their father - had done to him and how it had affected Sherlock's life. Mycroft would make sure that he wouldn't take to drugs again and Sherlock would let him. Because no matter how much he yearned for the oblivion that heroin brought him, his brother had been right when he had told him - almost two decades ago - that throwing away his life like this would mean that their father had won.  
Sherlock's knuckles turned white as he held onto the armchair for dear life. He wouldn't let him win - of that he was certain - but neither did he know what else he should do. Yes, the sensible thing would be to call Mycroft but Sherlock was certain that while his brother would take care of him he wouldn't know how to handle the emotional side of Sherlock's problem. They were both terrible at feelings. That was why Sherlock usually relied on John to navigate the unknown waters of emotions. But of course that was out of the question now. After all John was the reason for the turmoil in his head. Not that this was the first time that his friend had brought out feelings in Sherlock but it certainly was the first time that they weren't of a positive nature - if he discounted the jealousy of John's girlfriends.

 

How should he have known that John was the boy with whom he had chatted and talked so many years ago? There had been no clues to deduce this part of his friend's past and since they had never seen each other Sherlock hadn't had a chance to recognize him. He hadn't even considered that his John had been the one to help him through nights filled with pain and fear. That he had been the one who urged him to call the police... and the one to abandon him. Sherlock bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent the tears in his eyes from falling. 

 

"I needed you, back then," Sherlock spoke as he sensed John's presence without turning around.

 

John moved closer to him until he stood close enough for Sherlock to feel his warmth without them touching. "I just couldn't..."

 

Sherlock stared down at the cushion on the armchair. He wanted John to go away and to hug him close at the same time. Neither option sounded optimal so Sherlock decided on a third one. An option that hadn't been available to him for two decades: he told John what had happened the night he had called the police.

 

"They didn't believe me," he started and the words just came pouring out of him after that.

 

"You claim that your father assaulted you repeatedly?" The police officer raised an eyebrow at him and Sherlock forced himself not to flinch at the judging look of the man but he started to realize that he had made a mistake.

John had been wrong when he had told him that the police would help him. Maybe if he had been a woman they might have taken him seriously - or not even then - but as it was they couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the fact that a father would rape his son. As if to prove Sherlock's point the other policeman glared at Sherlock. "You are aware that these are very serious accusations? If you are just making them up..."

"I am not!"

Sherlock couldn't help the way his voice broke at the last word. He wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered in the cold air. He was tired, hurting everywhere - his father had been rougher than usual with him - and cold. If he hadn't listened to John, Sherlock could be curled up in his bed by now instead of arguing with policemen that would never believe him. Nothing would come of tonight. He had probably made it even worse by calling the police.

"What's going on here?!" Sherlock flinched as his father came down the driveway and came to stand right next to him. He shuddered as the man slung an arm around his shoulder. "Did my son do something?"

His voice was the perfect imitation of a worried, but loving father and Sherlock felt like retching. He averted his eyes and stared at the street in front of their property while the policemen explained to his father what Sherlock had accused him of. His father's fingers dug into his shoulder blade and Sherlock couldn't help but wince. Maybe, it would be a good idea to just run away. He could live in the streets. No one would find him and no matter what he had to do to survive, it couldn't be worse than being raped by his own father.

A taxi pulled up on the driveway.

Sherlock frowned but didn't have the chance to focus on it as his father shook his shoulder. He looked up at his angry eyes and watched in fascinated disgust how his father's features turned into a smile that he directed at the policemen. "My son suffers from nightmares. We watched a documentation about the victims of child abuse tonight and he must have dreamed about it." A calculated sad look entered his father's eyes. "I didn't think that it would get so bad that he couldn't distinguish between his own imagination and reality anymore but under these circumstances we might need to get him to see a therapist."

"I'm not crazy!" Sherlock pressed out even though he knew that he had lost. "I didn't make this up. It's true!"

"What's true?"

Everyone's head whipped around to stare at Mycroft who must have arrived with the taxi. Sherlock hadn't seen his brother in months - he was busy with taking over the government after all - and he wasn't sure if he should be happy or not to have him here now. Would Mycroft believe him or would he also call Sherlock a liar? He didn't know if he would survive being rejected by his own brother. Before Sherlock could make up his mind whether he wanted his brother to know or not, his father took the decision out of his hand.

"Our dear Willy told these officers that I had raped him... repeatedly." If Sherlock hadn't known better he would have bought the horrified shudder his father faked. "Can you believe..."

"Yes."

Sherlock stared up at his brother in surprise while their father and the police officers gasped in horror as Mycroft's eyes flickered over them. "He has raped my brother for over a year, including tonight." Sherlock flinched at the anger that flashed in his brother's eyes at the words. "You will find enough evidence of that if you take a rape kit which should have been your first action after being called to the scene of such a crime instead of belittling the victim."

The officers flinched at Mycroft's accusations and they gaped when he nodded at his father. "You will also find videos of how he raped my brother in a hidden drawer in his desk. I suggest you get some more men and an ambulance here, at once!"

Sherlock watched in fascination as the men hurried to obey even as their father tried to change their mind.

"I'm so sorry, William. If I had known..."

"Sherlock," he corrected his brother even as he allowed Mycroft to hug him close. "I will never go by William again."

"I understand," Mycroft whispered as he held Sherlock close while the world around them broke apart as police officers and forensic professionals swamped the property.

 

"I stayed with Mycroft afterwards. He had a small flat in London," Sherlock continued in a flat voice. 

 

"Did he know..."

 

Sherlock shook his head at John's unfinished question, still not turning around. "No, he only deduced it right then and there in front of the police officers. The part about the videos was a wild guess - he only knew about the secret drawer - but as it turned out, he was right. There were videos of... the rapes."

 

"Oh God, Sherlock. I am so..."

 

"Don't say you are sorry!" Sherlock wheeled around to glare at John whose hand was extended to reach out for him. He slapped it away. "Back then, I needed you. I tried to call you but you didn't answer the phone. I wrote you in the chat but you didn't reply and then you deleted your account. There was no way for me to reach you and I didn't know why. After everything and you... just cast me away. I needed someone to talk to. Not a therapist and not Mycroft but a friend. A friend who would understand how I was feeling. My brother tried but he was always bad at these things."

 

Sherlock glared quietly at John, who appeared to be frozen to the spot. "Why?"

 

It was more a demand to know than a question and even as Sherlock dreaded the answer, he needed to know. He had wondered for years and even if the truth would destroy him, he couldn't turn away from it anymore.

 

OOO

 

John felt sick.

 

For years he had wondered what had happened to his friend and now that he knew, he wasn't sure how to handle the information. Sherlock's story wasn't the worst case scenario he had imagined - that had been the one in which no one believed the boy and the father continued to rape William until he committed suicide - but it was damn close to it. After all if Mycroft hadn't happened to be Sherlock's brother and appeared right then and there... No, John couldn't go down this path or it would tear him apart.

 

And now, Sherlock wanted to know why John had cut him out of his life and although he had always tried to make himself believe that his reasons were good enough he wasn't so sure of it anymore. Still, his friend deserved to know the truth.

 

"Can we please sit down?" John nodded to their armchairs and after a brief moment of hesitation Sherlock nodded and they moved to sit.

 

"Well?" Sherlock stared impatiently at John when he kept silent for too long.

 

"It's not easy," John murmured but then met the expressive eyes of his friend and recalled what he had gone through. He straightened his back and started to tell his story.

 

William had called the police.

John sagged against the headrest of his bed and closed his eyes in relief. It was done. Finally, his friend would get help. The police would take him away from home - maybe to live with the brother he had mentioned - and his father would go to jail.

Of course, it wouldn't be easy for him. John could only start to imagine how much damage William's father had done to his friend. He would need a therapist to work through everything and there was no guarantee that he would heal completely. Probably not. This ordeal would leave scars but he would live. Yes, John was certain that he would live. It could only get better for William from now on. And he was strong, John knew that much otherwise he wouldn't have survived the last couple of years. As for himself...

John opened the drawer of his nightstand without looking and took out the bottle of tablets of aspirin and the half full bottle of cheap whisky he had stolen from his father. He wasn't strong. Once he had believed that he was but he couldn't go on like this anymore. Not after he had finished school with good grades but without any chance to get into medical school. He hadn't been good enough to get a scholarship and there was no chance that he would ever get enough money to pay for it himself. There wasn't even enough money for him to move out and live on his own. Of course, he could get a job but if he wanted to earn enough to live completely on his own he wouldn't have the time to go to university. If his family were different he would have considered living at home and going to a nearby university but he couldn't stand to live with them anymore. Harry was drunk all the time. His father had lost his last job and was either passed out on the couch or taking his anger out on Mum. These days, he had also taken to beating her and while John tried to protect her, he wasn't always there in time. No, there was no way to break the vicious circle of poverty for him. No way out of this life except for one.

The tablets crunched as he bit them into pieces and gulped them down with large mouthfuls of whisky. Only when no tablet was there anymore and the bottle of whisky was completely empty, did John stop. His head was swimming from the alcohol and his heart was racing but he felt good. Better than ever. It would be over soon. He only needed to fall asleep and then it would end. No more pain. Finally, free.

 

Silence followed John's words and he didn't dare look at Sherlock as he kept staring into his lap. He had been a coward back then. Instead of fighting and looking for a way to make things work out, he had decided to give up. Sherlock was going to hate him for it.

 

"You were depressed."

 

The statement made John's head snap up as he met his friend's thoughtful eyes. The anger had vanished from them, replaced by understanding and sadness. "I should have seen it. We talked so often and you told me about your family but I didn't think that it was so bad and I... never deduced that you had depression. I'm sorry."

 

John shook his head, stunned. This didn't make sense. If anything he was the one who should apologize and not the other way around."I didn't want to burden you with my problems. Yours were much worse and I thought I could handle mine."

 

"But you couldn't."

 

It was a statement but John still shook his head.

 

"And yet, you waited until you were sure that I got help before you attempted suicide."

 

Also not a question, but John felt obliged to answer. "I couldn't leave you until I was sure that you were safe." He shrugged miserably. "I later realised that I might have miscalculated and that you weren't safe just because you had called the police but I couldn't wait anymore. I was so tired of living."

 

"I understand." The words were barely above a whisper but John still understood what Sherlock was saying. "You tried to commit suicide."

 

This time, it was Sherlock's turn to shrug. "Not directly but you know about the drugs. I started to take them when therapy didn't appear to help. They didn't make the memories go away but when I was on drugs my past didn't matter anymore. The pain went away, all the sharp edges that were cutting away at my psyche went away. It was bliss... until I overdosed and again it was Mycroft who saved me."

 

There was some barely concealed resentment in Sherlock's voice when he spoke of his brother that John understood all too well. "Harry saved me, too. It was the one evening she came home sober - because she was out of money. She came to my room to ask me for some cash when she found me." John laughed humorlessly. "I woke up at the hospital. After I had made a complete recovery they forced me into therapy. Probably the best that ever happened to me as I learned there that I could sign up for the army and they would pay my fees for medical school in exchange."

 

"You also decided then and there to break all ties with me." There was no accusation in Sherlock's voice like there had been before and John allowed himself to relax a little.

 

"It wasn't a rational decision. When I got my hands on a computer again, I deleted my account without thinking twice about it. Back then I was afraid to see what you had written to me. I wanted to keep the illusion that you were safe and I... was ashamed of what I had done."

 

They sat in silence after this last admission. Seconds ticked by and turned into minutes as they both followed their own tracks of thoughts. John couldn't say how much time had passed until Sherlock emerged from wherever his mind had taken him. There was a strange gleam in his eyes as he met his gaze and John wondered if he should be worried when Sherlock nodded to himself.

 

There was no way for John to know what decision his friend had just made but he was afraid that it had to do with him and after all the revelations of tonight nothing good could come of that.

 

OOO

 

It was almost too much to handle. Sherlock felt like his Mind Palace was bursting from the sheer amount of new information that was rushing in. And not only the information but especially the feelings that came with them. Fear, angst, hatred and disgust were the most prominent ones as images of his past were reflected onto the walls of his Palace. But it wasn't all. Through all the darkness shone a tiny light. Hope.

 

Sherlock gulped.

 

He had felt it for the first time when he had started to chat with John and found a friend in him. The feeling had grown stronger with every message and every phone call and it had carried Sherlock through a lot of terrible nights when the blade of the razor had tried to lure him with its promise of oblivion. There was no way to fool himself into thinking that he would have called the police without John's encouragement. He would have either endured his father's assaults for longer or he would have killed himself eventually. The thought didn't shock him, it was merely a fact of life. Besides, why should it shock him?! He was still here after all, still alive and part of it was John's doing.

 

Sherlock checked his feelings about the abandonment by his friend. For years there had been bitterness and hate, where there once had been warmth and hope but now there was only sadness and understanding. Sadness that their earlier friendship had ended like this but understanding why it had come to it. And now they were back together.

 

Sherlock glanced at John in the armchair opposite him. They both had gone through a lot to arrive at this point. A point that looked like the beginning but was in fact only a continuation of what had started a long time ago. Sherlock would have called it a coincidence but the universe was rarely so lazy. So maybe - although he didn't believe in it - this was fate or maybe just sheer luck but he would be damned if he didn't accept it.

 

"Be careful, brother mine," Mycroft's voice cautioned him as he nodded to himself and got up from his chair. 

 

Sherlock knew that he was about to take a risk. The rational part of him was also aware that he shouldn't make such a decision right now. Not when a whirlwind of emotions was wreaking havoc in his Mind Palace. The sensible thing would be to bid John goodnight and go to sleep to give them both the chance to work through their feelings. But then, Sherlock had never done the sensible thing and he was also sure of his feelings. At least about the most important ones.

 

"John," he whispered and leaned forwards when his friend looked up to press a tender kiss to his lips.

 

OOO

 

It was only a shy peck. Over before it had really begun but John still felt its warmth even after Sherlock had drawn back again.

 

"Sherlock?" His breath touched Sherlock's face as the quiet question fell from his lips.

 

John freely admitted that he hadn't expected his friend to kiss him. Not after all this time and certainly not after tonight. He didn't know what to make of it and part of him wanted to run from the flat but another - a stronger part - urged him to stay and to trust his friend to explain himself.

 

"I love you," Sherlock replied just as quietly, his breath caressing John's lips as he spoke. "I have loved you for a long time but... I was too afraid to act on it."

 

John shivered at the words as his heart pounded away in his chest but he forced himself to remain calm. At least as calm as was humanly possible with Sherlock so close. "And you aren't afraid anymore?"

 

John's fingers found their way to dark curls on their own and stroked gently through the silky strands.

 

"I'm terrified." A shaky smile turned Sherlock's lips up at his own admission and John could only return it. "I'm as well and... I love you, too."

 

He didn't know if it was the right thing to do and if now was the right time to admit to their feelings and cross a line into unknown territory but then... there might not be a right time. Maybe, there was only this - the present - and they had to make it right by themselves.

 

When their lips met again in a gentle kiss, John felt like this could work out. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking that it would be an easy path but it certainly wasn't impossible to walk it. They had both gone through hell and come out alive on the other side only to find each other. They would walk together from now on.


End file.
